Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,44
bodies are unmoving,” Bellimar said, staring down in pitiless scrutiny. “The skulls you split are inert as well. Any head merely severed, however, is still animated.”
Amric stifled a wave of revulsion as the thing leered up at them, still straining to reach them. “Unsettling, but what has this to do with trivial abrasions––”
Even as he said it, he saw what Bellimar meant. The head had come to rest on the grassy sward beside the trail, and the vegetation was dying beneath it in a spreading circle. As Amric watched, several more broad blades of grass bent to the ground in slow curls, brown corruption crawling up the stems to overwhelm the green. On the solid trail, devoid of flora, there had been no visible effect, but here the putrefaction was unmistakable. Amric inspected a scarlet scrape on his forearm, and frowned to himself. There was no hint of corruption yet, but did he imagine a strange itching at the edges of the wound?
“You suggest that the wounds, minor though they might be, could fester if not treated,” he said in a quiet tone.
“Worse yet,” Bellimar insisted. “Their auras appear similar in signature to Unlife, and I fear their energies will spread through your system in a manner that is more than mere physical infection. If that is true, then no poultice will cleanse it from you.”
“I hear more speculation than fact,” Amric said.
“I realize you want no part of mysterious forces coursing through you, swordsman, including healing magic such as the Half-Ork possesses.” Bellimar leaned close as he spoke, and held Amric’s gaze with his own. “But you can no longer prevent it. The decay you see before you may be no less virulent within your body. You cannot choose magic or not. You can only choose between that which you mistrust on principle and that which you mistrust based on evidence.”
Amric’s jaw clenched, but he knew the truth in Bellimar’s words. He stared down at the loathsome object, still wild in its unceasing efforts, and found himself speculating at whether its path to becoming the travesty now before him might have begun with a similar infection of dark energies. He imagined its origins as a mortal man, and his disgust became tempered by pity, followed by an unfamiliar sensation: fear. He would not become like this thing. Amric looked up and found his emotions mirrored in Valkarr’s expression. The Sil’ath, like all his kind, had an equally strong aversion to magic, and Amric exhaled in relief when he read in his friend the same resignation he himself felt. He had not relished the prospect of convincing his friend as to what must be done. With an almost imperceptible nod to Amric, Valkarr stepped over to Halthak and bowed his head before him.
The healer reached out and laid one gnarled hand on the bare flesh of the Sil’ath warrior’s muscular arm, and he closed his eyes in concentration. Amric knew the Half-Ork had healed himself back at the bandit camp on the night they met, but his view had been obstructed as he approached the camp unseen in the darkness. Now that he was witnessing the healer employ his talent in the daylight and in close proximity, he half expected a glowing nimbus of light to surround Halthak as his magic issued forth, but there was nothing so dramatic. In fact, the only indication of something unseen transpiring was an abrupt stiffening of Valkarr’s posture. As for Halthak, his protruding lower lip tightened, and then twisted in apparent distaste. After a few seconds, his hand dropped to his side. Valkarr took a hesitant step back from him, running his fingertips over his skin where a moment before had been a myriad of small scrapes.
“It feels foul, unclean,” Halthak said. “I am able to absorb and overcome it at this early stage, and it may be that your body’s natural defenses would do the same in time, but I cannot say for certain. I do not know how quickly it will spread.”
“One cannot be too cautious,” Bellimar insisted.
Amric nodded, took a deep breath and walked to the healer. As before, Halthak raised his hand to contact Amric’s arm and closed his eyes. The warrior braced for whatever unpleasant sensation had startled Valkarr and felt… nothing. Well, almost nothing. He sensed an odd stirring within for a fleeting instant, but nothing more. He peered at Halthak’s face, watched a frown bloom there, and saw the bushy brows draw down in focus.